Delicate chamber pop for the lost at sea. At once nostalgic, dreamy, ethereal, haunting, and beautiful like a sunset remembered on the last day of something big. Intimate, minimal, and full of wonder.

The Washboard Abs is a great name, though I suppose I expected a surf band and was pleasantly surprised by the lush songwriting that came forth. The whole thing goes by quickly, which is a compliment as sometimes this kind of thing can drag on if too many songs re-tread ground. Easy to keep flipping the tape over and over.

Not morose in a sad bastard kind of way but there is honest sadness here. The opener plays out feeling like a bittersweet mourning. The harmonies on The Day Draws Nearer evoke two people on either side of a breakup - emotions run high no matter which side you're on. Plus it's got great whistling (eat your heart out Andrew Bird).

In closing: keep your head up out there, folks; it's a wooly world. You might be sad now but The Washboard Abs are gonna help you through it.

Two very opposite sides of the noise spectrum presented here,
in an ultra limited edition of 10 on recycled cassettes (my copy is recorded
over a Sammy Davis jr record), from Brisbane Australia label Minimal Impact
Noise. Strangler Fig play vacant eyed, mouth drooling noise using glacially
paced pulsations of static wash and subtle chiming instrumentation, while
Industrial Hydrophobia flip the switch and kick out an intense thrash jazz jam
with piano, sax, and huge distorted blurts of noise. About ten minutes of music
here all told, and rather than each claiming one side for themselves the whole
thing plays out on one side. It’s an effective and palatable take on the idea
of a split release, nicely pairing disparate approaches to the world of harsh
sounds. There’s something very rewarding about following up a slow burner song
with a high intensity, energy filled track, it’s the album equivalent of
waiting for the mosh riff in a hardcore song.

If someone were to grab you by the throat and demand to know
what’s up with noise, you could put on this release and it’d just about portray
the breadth of variance in the genre in brief without overstaying its welcome.
Between the two, I prefer the mind melting grind of Industrial Hydrophobia,
who, further research details, have one other release of sick, disgusting
quality, which seems only available on Youtube format that hits on a more
zonked sound than the fury of the take on this tape. Worth looking at. This
split’s (obviously) sold out from the label, but the curious can listen here. http://minimalimpact.bigcartel.com/product/min02-strangler-fig-industrial-hydrophobia-split

Paris-born, Tokyo-domiciled Raphael Leray has one of the best Bandcamp
bios I’ve ever seen: “Raphael Leray is an experimental melodist, engineer, and
occasional illustrator….” That description flows with a deft lyricism that’s
surprising to find in an artist known mainly for wordless composition. If that
were me, I’d print up thousands of business cards with that on it. It’s too
good not to pass out to everyone I’d meet.

As a self-proclaimed “experimental melodicist,” there’s a lot to expect
in the music unleashed upon the world by one so described. You can’t just knock
out a pop tune with some warbly synthesizer and call it a day (I’m looking at
you … Weezer, I guess?). Leray’s got it covered, though, don’t you worry,
because his music doesn’t screw
around in the slightest. It’s intensely obvious that every single note and
pattern released on Solstitial Memories
was agonized over, the detail scrutinized to a micro degree. In some ways it’s
small, personal music, in that it feels insular and particular, a product of
one person made for consumption by individuals. But just as you’d find if you
bent your head to the ground and observed the great living activity there, if
you bend your ear closely to Solstitial
Memories, it reveals itself more clearly under examination.

That’s the magic of the tape. Every moment is a deep, clean breath, every
melody a hint of birdsong at sunrise. Even tracks with distinct percussive
elements like “Dance I” and “War” invite pure immersion that leaves you feeling
refreshed on the other side. I can’t get enough of it – I’ve literally listened
to it four times in a row while barely writing this review, because I keep
getting distracted by it, and my writing suffers. Sometimes I don’t write good,
and it’s because music invades my brain’s writing parts for its own insidious
purposes and makes me stupid. Of course, once the music’s off and I shake the
haze, I’m back to my good old self again, ready to shout rudely to anyone
within earshot how good Raphael Leray is. I get a lot of funny looks at the
supermarket.

So I’ll end by shouting at you readers instead, and spare the
incredulous onlookers I encounter in public. You won’t find a better entry
point to the Phinery aesthetic than Raphael Leray. His work – at times music
box–like, at others gloriously meditative – is cut-and-paste gorgeousness. It’s
probably hard to be this inventive and still have time to do other things. Like
print up business cards or shop for groceries. You know, the basics.

Like two celestial objects orbiting each other, Bary Center’s music is
massive and constantly in motion. Mark Williams, Bary Center’s alter ego, sets
his controls for the heart of the sun and blasts into cosmic bliss throughout
his Speaker Footage tape Stop Believing,
a fulcrum, a point of balance where electronic dance music serves as the
central point around which all matter revolves. It’s an absolute miracle of
physics. Hear that, you scientists? I said “miracle”!

But miracles require belief, and Bary Center says, “Stop that, you
guys! All that matters is the lights and euphoria, the motion and the rhythm.
Let’s get off this stupid planet and manipulate the universe with our minds!”
I’m assuming that’s what he’s saying to someone, maybe his own subconscious, as
he throws some wicked shapes in his own bedroom while composing his next great
techno opus. Because that’s what Stop
Believing is, ten tracks of immense dancefloor fodder that burst into color
behind your closed eyelids as you lose yourself in ecstasy.

Sometimes recalling Underworld, other times Orbital, and even Aphex
Twin here and there, Stop Believing plays
like a tourism film for the heyday of excellent and intelligent electronic
beatmakers. And it’s no wonder that the artists I just mentioned had some
modicum of mainstream success – like them, Bary Center fills these tunes with
accessible hooks and inventive ways to package 4/4 rhythms to appeal to the
raver (not me) and the internalizer (me) in equal measure. It’s a deft trick,
and one that he’s continuing to pull off – see his rapidly growing discography
featuring tapes on Crash Symbols, Skrot Up, MJ MJ Records, and others. Right
now, throw down your baggage and hit play, lose yourself and Stop Believing. Space magic is
happening.

There’s an ancient proverb that goes, “In space, no one can hear you
scream.” Those who intoned these mystical words forgot one important thing – in
space, no one can hear you do anything. No one can hear you jog along the
corridor of your spacecraft. No one can hear you prepare your space food in the
galley. No one can hear you practice your modular synthesizer in your cabin.
It’s space fact – there’s no freaking sound.

Fortunately, in space, everyone can hear Dreyt Nien for some reason,
because Dreyt Nien has the ability to transcend physical limitations. Or maybe
my enthusiasm for Alien references
led me down a rabbit hole I’ll never escape. Either way, Dreyt Nien does have the ability to transmit his modular
synthesizer compositions in a wavelength that’s translatable to the human ear,
and we’re all the better for it. The mysterious French composer has a distinct
and possibly disturbing fascination with the outer limits of the human ability
to adapt to non-Earth conditions, and that combination of isolation and
discovery serves to focus Les Rivières de
la Nuit (“Rivers of the Night” – am I the only one getting the deep space
vibe, then?) in enthralling ways.

Les Rivières de la Nuit recalls
modular synth maestros ranging from Morton Subotnick to Keith Fullerton
Whitman, and can find modern tape-scene equivalents in the work of Hollowfonts,
Mortuus Auris and the Black Hand, and the White Reeves Productions crew. The
tape varies within a defined space, not veering too far beyond “chilling” or
“tense,” if at all. There’s the creeping miasma of the title track, the percussive
dread of “Psychopods,” the decaying AI of “Ici Sont Des Dragons,” and the minuscule
malfunctions threatening disaster of “Dix Neuf Abîmes.” I think it’s safe to
say that Dreyt Nien has harnessed a distinct vibe.

If there was ever a moment to remind you that you should always take
every precaution while on a maintenance spacewalk outside your craft, now’s the
time, because Les Rivières de la Nuit is
the soundtrack to everything going wrong, resulting in your permanent
separation.There’s no more safety after
that. Maybe your comm will work for a little while as you drift, watching your
ship get smaller and smaller as it moves away from you, and you can talk to
your crewmates to give your good-byes. Or maybe you will scream, in panic,
until there’s only static. The possibilities are endless! Let Dreyt Nien guide
you to your doom, possibly in the form of getting hit by a passing asteroid.

Oh, uh, tapes are sold out from the label, better hit up the artist
page, and quick!

If you've been following Edmund Xavier's music then you know he's a genius chameleon, taking on outsider folk (Skygreen Leopards, Thuja) catchy lo-fi art pop (Art Museums, The Reds, Pinks & Purples) & minimal post punk (Teenage Panzerkorps, Walking Korpses) since the early 00's, & I think out of all of his amazing bands, FWY! might be my favorite. He's been trading in soft focus kosmische synths on top of languid post punk rhythms for a minute now, but i think here he has reached his full power. If Michael Rother had played with Movement-era New Order, you would be getting close to what he's driving at. San Gabriel is the perfect encapsulation of hot hazy Southern California afternoons spent on the beach followed by the interminable gridlock getting home.

The
Philosopher’s Stone. Many have yearned for it, as its possession would
surely entail untold riches for its owner. It could even extend life. Some may
have fleetingly been in its presence. I have. How do you think I’m still alive
after all these centuries? You should have seen the Middle Ages. Absolute
nightmare.

That’s where the Mutus Libercomes in.
You can imagine how someone would try anything, desperately, to harness the
power of something like the Philosopher’s Stone. Lord Voldemort sure tried. The
Mutus Liber, published in 1677 in La
Rochelle, France,purports to be a
guidebook on manufacturing the Philosopher’s Stone via alchemical means. Take
it from me, from experience, that this book knows its stuff.

Anyway, batcrap mysticism aside, Giulio Aldinucci (Siena) and Moon Ra
(Florence) represent two of Italy’s most exciting sound artists working within
the experimental and found-sound idiom. What they’ve done on their respective
sides of Mutus Liber, their split
cassette on Santiago (Chile)’s No Problema Tapes, is take the concept of the
cryptic tome and applied it to their sound design. Meaning, they’ve concocted,
via literal alchemy (right?), music
that turns metals into gold and grants eternal life. Meaning also, if I keep
listening, I don’t have to keep drinking this awful stuff that I make from the
Philosopher’s Stone. (You get that I’m implying I have a Philosopher’s Stone in
my garage, right?)

Aldinucci’s side focuses on the wonder and excitement of creation and
discovery. There’s a palpable joy in his four tracks as the surprise of
scientific breakthrough occurs after a lengthy period of experimentation.Moon Ra’s on a different track, though – she
realizes that playing with alchemy is like playing god, and in doing so they’ve
gone too far, unleashed something too powerful and uncontrollable. The playing
of Mutus Liber is like opening up
Pandora’s Box, and there’s no way to get that lid back on. Her tense pieces
belie this sense of “Oh no, what have we done?”

Which is where I come in. Somebody’s gotta clean up this mess, and
since I’ve got a little bit of experience in this area, I’ll see what I can do.
But don’t let all this stop you from grabbing yourself a copy of this tape –
I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.

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It should be obvious, this is a webzine we created to put cassette releases and the format of cassette itself on a pedestal. We are not doing this to be some sort of cassette snob, more-DIY-than-thou elitists or anything. We are doing it because all the formats that sound can be presented on are exciting and provide unique ways of shaping the listeners experience... so it is a shame that any one of these formats would fall by the wayside. Cassettes provide a listening experience that is similar to vinyl because of the intermission/moment of pause created by changing sides of the tape, but can be of almost any length between 30 seconds a side to an hour. Tapes can also be listened to in a car or while jogging.While today this format helps keep the home label alive, its almost a dream to remember that once every musician from Michael Jackson to REM had their releases on cassette. Cassettes were a legitimate format, not just for the DIY underground. Maybe we (thats you too) are the last guardians of this format. Maybe someone, someday will popularize cassettes again. In the meantime we keep the reels turning. A little offering because at least there are a few of you that know there is more than one god of this land.